


the kindest thing (is to never leave you alone)

by AlwaysRain



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angry Jaskier | Dandelion, During Canon, Episode Fix-It: s01e06 Rare Species, Gen, M/M, Pining Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, but also its really hard to stay angry at someone you're hopelessly in love with, jaskier is petty because he deserves to be, plus geralt tries really hard to not be emotionally constipated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:07:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28064445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysRain/pseuds/AlwaysRain
Summary: “Jaskier,” Geralt finally says, hardly louder than a whisper, and the sound of his voice burns its way deep into Jaskier’s chest.He wants this to feel like victory, but it just hurts. He bites his tongue to hold back the relief and turns it into spite; he can’t be heartbroken if he’s angry.---Geralt comes to apologize, and as much as Jaskier wants to hate him for what he's done, he can't.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 377
Collections: Geralt is Sorry, Just.... So cute...





	the kindest thing (is to never leave you alone)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jofngve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jofngve/gifts).



> the start of this has been sitting in my notes for six months now and it was meant to be a lot of jaskier being petty but then i had a lot of feelings and then geralt had a lot of feelings and so it turned into just a lot of feelings, man
> 
> anyway it's been almost a full year and i'm still not over ep6 and i'm still trying to fix it so my heart doesn't hurt quite as much about the whole thing
> 
> i took the title from the rockrose and the thistle by the amazing devil and i'm gifting this fic to @jofngve (follow her on tumblr and also read her fics bc she's amazing and i love her so much) even tho i haven't even told her i wrote it soooooooo enjoy!!!

When Jaskier sees Geralt enter the tavern, notice him, and choose to stay lurking in the back rather than leave immediately, he resolves to give the performance of a _lifetime_. He sings louder and clearer, strums his lute stronger, dances his way through the scattered tables so lightly on his feet he may as well have been floating, makes eye contact with his cheering patrons and winks at a few of the fairer men and women, bows deeply as he finishes his set. And then, as he straightens back up, he plasters on his biggest, most charming smile and waves his arm in a wide arc towards Geralt.

“Of course, my darlings, I must give credit where credit is due. May I present to you my oldest and dearest friend, my muse, the White Wolf himself: Geralt of Rivia!”

It’s malicious, to be sure- Jaskier knows full well just how completely Geralt resents being the center of attention- but introducing the witcher draws a satisfying round of ‘ooh’s and applause from the crowd. There’s a part of him that’s desperately excited to see Geralt again, but Jaskier has always been a petty man and he’s all too glad to take advantage of that vengeful nature now, as Geralt visibly wilts under the weight of curious eyes.

“Toss a coin to your witcher~!” Jaskier prompts, conducting his free hand lazily through the air while he sings what is, perhaps, the best-known lyric he has ever composed.

He expects Geralt to leave after this stunt- really, he hadn’t thought the witcher would even linger this long- but he doesn’t move. His golden eyes lock onto Jaskier’s with a thoroughly uncomfortable gaze, and Jaskier barely holds back a vindictive smirk. Instead, he gathers the coin being offered by the tavern patrons and saunters over to the bar, linking his arm through Geralt’s as he passes and tugging the larger man along with him.

“Two ales, please!”

Still, Geralt says nothing, so Jaskier studies his face and forces another sugary grin.

“A hot meal for my _dear_ friend, as well, if you don’t mind.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt _finally_ says, hardly louder than a whisper, and the sound of his voice burns its way deep into Jaskier’s chest.

He wants this to feel like victory, but it just hurts. He bites his tongue to hold back the relief and turns it into spite; he can’t be heartbroken if he’s angry.

“What are the odds, running into you here?” Jaskier asks, voice a touch too cheery. Anyone else wouldn’t notice, but Jaskier knows Geralt can see right through him and his games. Hell, he can probably smell the resentment rolling off of Jaskier right now. At least, that’s what Jaskier hopes he smells.

“Jaskier,” Geralt repeats, then stops and makes a small noise as he considers what to say. Jaskier’s heart skips a beat, traitor that it is. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Well, you found me! I’m _so_ glad it’s here in Lettenhove, of all places. Tell me, garrotter, what would behoove you to come so far west as to pass through this _charming_ little port, hmm? It can’t possibly be coincidence.”

“It isn’t. I- …hm. I told you, I’ve been looking for you.”

“Oh, well, that explains everything, then,” Jaskier says irritably, forgetting momentarily to keep up his cheerful front.

Silence settles between them as the barkeep plunks down two frothy mugs of ale and a plate of bread and fresh cheese alongside the roast leg of a pheasant. Geralt side-eyes the food but doesn’t reach for it, and Jaskier plasters on another smile in the midst of raising his tankard to rouse a second cheer for Geralt from the crowd. He wants it to feel vindictive, but all he can think about is how much Geralt really does deserve the recognition- underneath the gruff exterior and abrasive personality, he’s a good man who cares deeply about helping people in the only way he knows how. Knowing this makes it so much harder to stay mad at him, even when Jaskier has every right to be as pissed off as he is. He gestures towards the plate.

“You should eat. Mighty witchers have got to keep up their strength to fight off all the nasties they hunt.”

Geralt frowns and opens his mouth, then snaps it shut again and hums a low sound in the back of his throat. Jaskier raises his eyebrows in response and stares pointedly until Geralt slides his golden gaze away and picks up the bread. Jaskier chatters while he eats, graciously accepting compliments from people who nervously approach the pair of them. It isn’t until Geralt has cleared the plate that Jaskier politely excuses himself, leaving a few coins on the bar and sauntering towards the door. Geralt follows wordlessly, menacing in his height and bulk and general surliness. As soon as they’re outside again, Jaskier draws a deep breath and waves cheerily, though the tone of his voice is anything but.

“Well, Geralt, that was a lovely visit. But there are no monsters to hunt in Lettenhove, so you should probably move on before I begin shoveling shit again.”

Geralt shrinks away from Jaskier’s words. For a moment, the bard wonders what that reaction could possibly be about, but then he decides he doesn’t care. He’s still angry with Geralt for what happened on the mountain, and it’s been so many months now that he’s not sure they’re even friends anymore. Truth be told, he’s not sure they ever truly were, after the way Geralt had screamed at him. More than anger, though, there’s a deep ache in his chest whenever he thinks about their parting. Twenty-odd years Geralt had provided a safe place for Jaskier to be himself, to exist without fear of judgement, to learn how to defend himself, to learn what it was like to have true inspiration and to exist alongside someone who knew him as well as he knew himself. ‘ _Damn it, Jaskier!’_ had been a burning sword through his gut, and he hasn’t been able to forget the rest of Geralt’s outburst since the words fell from his lips.

“Jaskier-”

“Look, Geralt, you wanted me off your hands and I left. I took myself out of the equation and I came back home. I don’t know what force drove you here, but Lettenhove is my home, and I- … I _hate_ it here but I can’t leave, Geralt, it’s all I have left. So just… just finish what you came here for and go, alright?”

Geralt’s jaw clenches a few times, and his gaze is heavy as he stares at Jaskier, who shifts his weight back and forth uncomfortably while he waits for a response. It feels like an eternity before Geralt lets his breath out in a sharp sigh and slides his eyes away.

“I came here for you,” he mutters, as quietly and shamefully as he’d said Jaskier’s name in the tavern.

Jaskier’s breath leaves him like he’s been punched, not unlike his first interaction with Geralt in Posada. He has to concentrate to keep himself from wheezing when he speaks.

“What in Melitele’s name is that supposed to mean?”

“I came here for you,” Geralt repeats. He’s more forceful this time, actually looking at Jaskier when he says it. “I… Jaskier, I’m sorry.”

It takes a long moment for Jaskier to register what his friend has said, and another moment for that realization to sink in, and then it’s like a flip has been switched. The lingering hurt and shame and guilt suddenly disappear, completely overpowered by the anger and resentment and vindictiveness. Jaskier steps forward and shoves as hard as he can at Geralt’s chest, and the witcher actually stumbles back a few steps, though Jaskier is certain it’s only because he’s been caught off-guard.

“How dare you? How fucking _dare_ you?! You can’t just waltz into my hometown and _apologize_ after seven fucking months and expect me to- what? Expect me to what? What the _fuck_ do you want, Geralt? Do you even know what you’re apologizing for, you colossal _horse’s arse_?!”

Geralt licks his lips and swallows thickly, adam’s apple bobbing, looking like a kicked puppy as Jaskier shouts at him.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did. It wasn’t fair-”

“You’re bloody right it wasn’t fair! All I ever did was try to be your friend. I wrote songs about you, I changed your reputation, I _cared_ for you, and you threw it back in my face. I changed you from the Butcher of Blaviken to the White Wolf- _I_ did that! For you!”

“I know.”

“So then- then what gives you the right?! Why do I have to bugger off out of your life whenever you need someone to blame your problems on, but you get to just show up in mine whenever you damn well please? Why do you get to come here and act like you’ve changed? Why do you-”

“Because I fucked up!” Geralt snaps, grabbing Jaskier by the shoulders to keep him still and cutting him off mid-rant. He shakes the bard lightly, just enough to get his attention again. “Damn it, Jaskier, would you let me speak?!”

Looking a little shell-shocked, Jaskier nods slightly. His blue eyes are wide, confused and concerned but not afraid; never afraid. So many others cower away from Geralt as a first, second, third instinct. They know to fear him, the monster of a man who walks among them. But fear has never been part of Jaskier’s experience, and it shows in his eyes now, and Geralt has to loosen his grip and soften his voice.

“I fucked up,” he repeats, trying desperately to come up with the right words. “You left, and you didn’t return, and I knew. I _knew_ , but I- … I couldn’t do anything about it. You were already gone, and I was angry with myself and with the world, and… I’ve been looking for you for months, Jaskier. I didn’t think you would come back to Lettenhove, but I had to try, and you’re here, and I’m _sorry_.”

Jaskier stares at him, a little crease between his brows and his lips parted in bewilderment. Geralt clenches his jaw and releases him, taking a step back, and then another.

“I, uh… I’ll go, now. I just… I had to see you. I had to- … I’m going to Cintra. I thought you should know.”

The witcher turns and walks away, disappearing into the dark of the streets of Lettenhove and leaving Jaskier to stand, dumbfounded and alone, ten paces from the tavern door. By the time he processes everything that Geralt has said, the witcher is long gone and a few small groups of people have stumbled out of the tavern. Some of them cheer drunkenly when they see him, and one pauses long enough to wish him a good night and _‘Excellent performance, Vicount Pankratz, sir’_ , and Jaskier feels his heart sink at the name and title, and suddenly he knows that Lettenhove is not his home. His place is at Geralt’s side; no matter how many times he and Geralt argue, no matter how awful they can be to each other, spending months on the road with only Geralt and Roach and his lute for company is the happiest and most fulfilled he has ever been and he will ever be.

The man holding his shoulder stumbles as Jaskier breaks into a run and sprints in the direction Geralt had left, shouting the witcher’s name at the top of his lungs and holding the strap of his lute so it can’t bounce off his back in his desperation to catch up. He finds Geralt at the edge of town, nearly onto the southern road already, leading Roach rather than riding her, and calls out for him again. Geralt stops and turns in time to see Jaskier skidding to a stop beside him, doubling over with a wheeze and muttering something about screaming his fool head off.

“Jaskier,” he murmurs, grip tightening on Roach’s reins. “What are you doing?”

“I- I’m coming with you,” Jaskier gasps, holding up a hand to signal that he needs a moment to catch his breath. “If you’re really going to Cintra, it means you’re going to claim your Child Surprise, and you don’t know a damn thing about children. You’re going to need all the help you can get.”

“Hm,” Geralt says.

“And another thing!” Jaskier straightens up again and points an accusing finger at the witcher. “I am not a broken man and you are not allowed to treat me as such. You’re going to show me the respect I deserve, this time around. I’m done trying to prove myself worthy to you.”

“Jaskier…”

“I am your friend, Geralt. I forgive you. But I won’t tolerate the branch you have up your ass when you decide you need to burn it down.”

Geralt’s brow pinches together. Rather than comment on Jaskier’s odd metaphor, he shakes his head and turns around again, tugging at Roach’s lead so she’ll start walking. Jaskier settles into a steady pace beside him, and for several hours neither man says anything more. Jaskier doesn’t want to let himself hope too much, but by the time the sun rises the next morning, it almost feels like things have gone back to normal; a better normal, though, because Geralt is actually acknowledging his presence and making an effort to respond instead of letting Jaskier carry on one-sided conversations. They stop to make camp the second time Jaskier complains about having sore feet, and Jaskier can’t even help set up the site because he’s too busy being shocked that Geralt had listened to him.

The sun is just setting when they finish eating. Jaskier pulls off his boots to rub at his feet, muttering to himself about how he should have packed a bag before chasing after Geralt, and the witcher actually snorts a chuckle. Jaskier freezes, watching him with wide blue eyes, too startled to comment. Geralt looks up a moment later and catches him, however, and immediately puts on a scowl that Jaskier has come to associate with confusion.

“What.”

He says it like a statement rather than a question, and Jaskier means to tell him that, but the words that instead fall from his lips are “Why did you come to find me?”

Geralt stills, and for a moment Jaskier doesn’t think he’ll respond. But then he shifts uncomfortably and looks away, avoiding the bard’s gaze as he answers.

“I, uh- … I missed you.”

Jaskier’s brain short-circuits. He’s silent for so long that Geralt turns to look at him again, this time with a bit of concern in his expression. Jaskier clears his throat a couple of times, trying to ignore the way his hands have begun to shake, the way his heart is fluttering, the way he dares not to hope for what’s happening.

“You’ve never missed me before, Geralt. Not that you’ve ever said.”

Geralt’s expression pinches. “I have. But… I was never the reason you left, before. We would part ways so you could sing, or so I could hunt, or if I needed to return to Kaer Morhen, but we didn’t- … I never drove you off. I never frightened you away.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“I know.”

“Then what are you trying to say, Geralt?”

“I… I thought I lost you, after what I said. I didn’t think you’d come back to me. I didn’t- … I wanted to see you again, but I didn’t think you would ever forgive me.”

Jaskier takes a long while to consider Geralt: his hunched, insecure posture and quiet words, hands twisting uncertainly around a strip of leather he’d been using to secure his bedroll to Roach’s saddle. This is a side of Geralt Jaskier hasn’t seen before, not so completely. Perhaps in small glimpses, before the witcher closed himself behind his fortress walls again, but never so openly, never so ardently.

Slowly, hardly daring to breathe, Jaskier sets his boots aside and crawls the short distance to Geralt. He raises himself onto his knees and reaches for his friend’s face, brushing dirty strands of white hair aside so he can cup his cheek. Golden eyes meet blue, and Jaskier swallows hard against the swell of nerves and emotion that nearly overwhelms him.

“I forgive you,” he says, steadily and earnestly, as desperately as he dares. “I meant what I said last night, Geralt. I forgive you, and I’m not going to leave you again. My place is at your side.”

Jaskier realizes just how close they’ve gotten when he feels Geralt’s breath waft across his lips, and his stomach twists into a knot. He hasn’t been pushed away. He hasn’t been berated. He hasn’t been cursed at. In fact, Geralt closes his eyes as Jaskier speaks, and though the crease between his brows doesn’t go away, he begins to tremble ever so slightly in Jaskier’s hold. Jaskier brushes his thumb over his lips before he can think about what he’s doing, and they part with the softest of sighs, and Jaskier loses himself.

The kiss is chaste, and warm, and so tender Jaskier thinks he may be dying. He tangles his fingers in Geralt’s hair, one hand still holding the witcher’s jaw, and nearly falls apart when he feels Geralt’s arm wrap around him in a careful embrace. He presses himself closer, a whine escaping from the back of his throat, and Geralt groans in response. The whole thing becomes too overwhelming too quickly, and when they break apart Jaskier has to gasp to catch his breath. Geralt presses their foreheads together, still not opening his eyes.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, and Jaskier’s heart breaks all over again.

“Not always,” he agrees, blinking back tears and leaning in to press feather-light kisses to Geralt’s eyelids, then the tip of his nose. “But I don’t deserve you, either. And I’m not going anywhere, especially not after this. You’re stuck with me, witcher.”

Geralt pulls back just enough to finally look up at Jaskier, eyes searching for something in his face. “But I’m not-”

“Hush,” Jaskier interrupts, shushing him with a finger to his lips. “I said you weren’t allowed to treat me like a broken man, but I should have told you not to treat yourself like one either.”

“Hm. Jaskier, I- … are you sure this is what you want?”

“Destiny couldn’t keep me away, Geralt.”


End file.
